The Yule Ball Date
by Max Neverland
Summary: The Gryffindor common room was quiet but for the faint crackle of the fireplace. Dean ripped another page from the Daily Prophet and tossed it onto the smouldering embers. The edges curled up and began to burn away around the moving photograph of Harry, Cedric, Viktor and Fleur all smiling awkwardly into the camera...


**THE YULE BALL DATE**

The Gryffindor common room was quiet but for the faint crackle of the fireplace. Dean ripped another page from the _Daily Prophet_ and tossed it onto the smouldering embers. The edges curled up and began to burn away around the moving photograph of Harry, Cedric, Viktor and Fleur all smiling awkwardly into the camera. The sight of Fleur's striking pose and waterfall of silver hair brought back the memory of Ron's outrageous proposition to her earlier that day. Fleur wasn't to Dean's taste but he could understand Ron's wild desire to ask her to the Yule Ball.

Dean pulled his long legs up so that his feet were resting on the seat edge of his armchair and pulled at a loose thread on his socks. With his chin nestled on his knees and his mind drifting away, he slowly began to unravel the red-and-gold stripes. He had nearly freed his big toe when he heard footsteps echoing down the dormitory stairs.

"Dean?"

His name on those lips sent a jolt through him. A part of him – the bigger, cowardly part – wanted to sink down into the armchair and disappear but another part – that bold Gryffindor streak – wanted to swing around in the armchair, Godfather style, and face his fears.

"There you are."

 _Crap,_ Dean thought as the footsteps padded over to the fireplace. His tall frame made it impossible for anyone to miss him sitting facing the fire, his head and shoulders towering above the back of the armchair. He felt as if the embers had leapt out from the fireplace and set every nerve of his body on fire.

"Hey," said his companion as he settled in the next armchair.

"Hey, Seamus," replied Dean, trying to sound casual but he felt his voice catch on his friend's name.

"You missed dinner."

"Yeah, I… I had some study to catch up on."

Seamus snorted in disbelief and Dean didn't blame him. Any other lie would have been better than that but Dean realized that even though he had been concocting half-decent lies all year he was now tired of the whole charade. Harry was fourteen years old too and he was already taking on real life dragons; he, Dean, could do the same.

"Did you hear that Neville asked Ginny to the Yule Ball?" he said finally.

"Yeah, I did," grinned Seamus. "Neville plucked up the courage and asked someone to the ball and we haven't. How weird is that, mate?"

He laughed and threw some more newspaper on the fire. Dean took a deep breath and slid his feet off the armchair. He wished he was wearing something nicer than wrinkled robes and holey socks right now.

"There's someone I want to ask," he said. "But I'm worried they'll say no."

"I doubt they'd say no. Not to you," said Seamus seriously.

His friend's certainty startled Dean and Dean glanced over at him. Seamus's sandy coloured hair was rumpled from sleep but his blue eyes were bright and alert.

"Someone asked me."

Dean felt Seamus's words like a fist to the gut.

"Who?" he asked hollowly.

"Lavender."

"Oh."

"But…"

"But what?"

"I said no."

The fist in Dean's gut seemed to grab hold of all his organs and start crushing them. He sneaked a glance at Seamus and upon seeing his friend staring into the fire, he took the chance to turn his full gaze on him. Seamus was looking more serious than Dean had ever seen him, even with a quite heavily singed eyebrow.

"Why would you say no?" asked Dean. "Lavender's all right. A bit annoying but pretty enough."

"I don't want to go with her."

"Who, then?"

"Well, who do you think I should go with?"

Seamus finally met his eyes and held them. An eyelash had drifted down onto his cheek. Without thinking, barely daring to breathe, with his heart crashing against his ribcage, Dean stretched out his hand, reached across the chasm between them, and brushed it away with his thumb. The eyelash fell onto Seamus's knee but Dean didn't take his hand away.

"Me," he whispered. "You should go with me, Seamus."

Seamus's eyes dropped away. He reached up and pulled Dean's hand from his face. The fist was back in Dean's gut, pummelling his innards to a pulp as he waited for Seamus to push him away and run from the common room screaming, _leave me alone, freak_!

Instead, Seamus placed Dean's hand on the padded armrest between them and very gently placed his own hand on top, light over dark. Hardly daring to believe what was happening, Dean slowly curled his finger's around his friend's. Seamus gazed at their intertwined fingers for a moment and then looked up at Dean, a smile rising on his face.

"Good choice."


End file.
